The Stars Are Watching
by BlackBandit111
Summary: My interpretation of Gisborne's first night at the outlaw camp. Mild spoilers for Episode 11, mentioned only once or twice. Oneshot.


**Hello there my friends! Finally managed to write a suitable Robin Hood fanfiction...Disclaimer: If I owned Robin Hood, you would know it. But I don't. So please, don't sue me.**

**Spoilers for Season 3, Episode 11.**

**Okay! Onto the story! Warning: Gisborne might be a little OOC because I feel like he wasn't such a bad man at heart. Just misguided. confused, and bitter.**

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He had never known how peaceful it was here. He had never actually thought about before. Now, though, he shut his eyes, listening to Sherwood's sounds.

Distantly, a small spring bubbled merrily, its lilting tune drifting just beyond his consciousness and inserting itself somewhere in the back of his mind. The cheerful golden orb was fading in the distance, but still smiled at them from the west, warming their backs in familiar affection. The birdsong drifted through the air like some sad, lamented poem that was beyond the people's comprehension, and the foliage was alive with the small noises of little creatures retreating for the evening. Dapples of light flickered across the fallen leaves that lay on the forest floor, reflecting from the ground onto stones and bark. The air thrummed with energy and buzzed with life as insects went about their daily chores, and the trees giggled as the wind weaved through their branches.

He took a deep breath. The air smelled crisp and fine, and just like the smell after it rained. It scented of wet soil and pine, and broken leaves and of a burning fire. It was a surprisingly soothing mixture.

He blinked at the occupants of the camp, who were going about their nighttime rituals with the darkening blue/green sky at their faces. He watched them with keen eyes as they went about their home, pulling back blankets in preparation for sleep and dousing candles as they packed their things and lay their weapons at their sides. Which brought him to the question: Where was he going to sleep?

He cleared his throat. "So, where did you want me to sleep, then?"

All the activity abruptly ceased as all of them turned to stare at him. Gisborne shuffled and tried not to display the uncomfortableness crawling up his back like ants. His question really wasn't that surprising, was it? Where was he supposed to sleep?

Robin was the first to blink out of his stupor. "Ah," he said, clearing his throat and plastering that goddamned smirk that Gisborne hated on his lips, "right." He spread out his arms and gestured around them, spinning slowly. "Anywhere."

Gisborne swallowed his temper and forced Patience to work with him. She often abandoned him in his hour of need, so he tied a rope between her and his arm this time, lashing her to him. She glared at him with fiery eyes that sparked an intensity that should have made him wary, but instead made him laugh. She wasn't going to leave him this time. "Surely," he said, voice thick as he attempted to rein his loose anger in, "there is some sort of designated sleeping spot."

Robin scratched his head, brows drawn together. "Ehm," he said, gesturing awkwardly to an empty alcove of space, bedded with straw and furs. "There. You can sleep there."

"You just randomly had an extra?" Gisborne inquired, voice holding an undertone of mocking.

Robin purses his lips, his eyes flaming. "Are you taking it, or not?"

Gisborne glared at his childhood enemy and sighed. What else was he to do? "Yeah. I'll take it."

Robin scoffed, turned his eyes up to the sky for one long, silent moment before he looked down. He swallowed, sighed, and lay down, pulling his blanket up over his shoulder. "Goodnight, everyone," he muttered, his eyes already closed.

"Goodnight, Robin," the quiet chorus rose from the silence, the dark nearly navy blue as its comforting blanket descended onto the camp and its members. Gisborne remained silent, lying down on his own bed space and pulling the blanket at the foot of the bed up to his chin. He observed the camp through his pale eyes, which gleamed in the light of the moon. The only other person lying down was Robin, who was across from him, and the rest of the people were obviously not yet ready to retire, still busying themselves to delay the point where they must part into slumber. Gisborne's shoulders were tense and his eyes keen and alert, and he gripped his sword handle from under the covers. His senses were on high, and every sort of noise, movement and smell was alight in his mind. Which made him realise…

The blanket. It smelled like her. It still somehow carried her distinct perfume, even after all this time.

He choked on his own tongue as he tried to swallow the sob that was attempting to claw its way out of his throat. Even after all this time...This meant that she had been here for a while for the blanket to smell so much of her.

She had stayed in the outlaw camp.

Guy wanted to know the burning, fiery anger as it ripped through his soul, but all he could actually feel was the sinking feeling in his stomach and the sting that came to his eyes. She had loved Robin Hood. She had stayed with him. Had they ever shared a bed? Had they kissed under the beautiful canopy of leaves Sherwood offered? Gone climbing the old oak that Guy found Robin 'holding Marian hostage' in together before that? Maybe they'd played hide and seek as adults, just as they had as children?

Guy stifled his sob with his arm, clenching his eyes shut. He wanted to know revenge. He wanted to kill the man who took everything from him, even Marian. Sweet, gentle, fierce, stubborn Marian.

But he knew she had never been his. Not for a moment.

He almost didn't want to taint the smell of her with his own, which he knew would mingle and loiter on the fabric and soon, would override her's. But the night was cold and the air was chilled, and he needed a blanket.

He sighed and shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time for demons. Now was the time for sleep, and peace, because that's what Sherwood represented now. Peace. It was so peaceful here.

An owl hooted off in the distance, and to Gisborne, it seemed like encouragement to close his eyes. But he didn't, not yet; he peered up at the branches of the trees, and just through the small cracks made by leaves, he could spot the night sky, bright stars winking down at him. Perhaps one was Marian. But she wouldn't be winking at _him_; Robin was so close to Gisborne at the moment, she could be mistaken for watching over Gisborne. But she wasn't. And he knew it.

Robin shifted, muttering something under his breath. Perhaps he sensed her presence?

There were murmurs of 'goodnight' to and from everyone around the camp, and only then did Guy notice that they were all laying down now. Not a single person eyed him suspiciously as they all shut their eyes and breathed a collective sigh, but from the stresses of the day being relieved or just knowing they were once again near each other, Gisborne didn't know.

"Goodnight, Gisborne," a familiar voice said softly. Gisborne swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his voice to be stern and steady.

"Goodnight, Allan."

And that was the end of it. There were no shouts from John about how 'he had better not slaughter them in their sleep, or _else...' _and there were no threats from Kate about Gisborne not being truly apart of them. Everything was just quiet again; wholesome. It was almost companionable to Gisborne.

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, but instead of starting, Gisborne shut his eyes. It seemed like a lullaby now, not a threat. How could one night change his opinion so drastically? It had only been a few hours. Robin Hood and his gang were _outlaws. _Gisborne was to be Sheriff- of course, after he killed Isabella, that was, but still. He was going to be Sheriff at one time or another. So why did he feel this way? Was it because now, he and Robin shared a brother? He still disliked Robin for everything he was worth, but somehow Marian's voice echoed back to him.

_Perhaps things are not always as they seem._

She was right, of course. They weren't savages, out in the woods. They still cooked their food and ate politely, and kept beds and sewed their clothing and weapons. Whenever Gisborne had pictured them before, they had always eaten the raw things they caught and slept curled up on the ground like animals, and merely discarded the fact their clothing was scraped and weapons cast aside for later use. It had never occurred to him that they were still civil. Perhaps the term 'outlaw' had continuously crushed the idea before it even formulated in his mind; perhaps it was just Gisborne's personal opinions clouding his observation. Because really, anyone could see their clothing was well mended and their weapons tended to until they shined.

Gisborne sighed, listening to the quiet sounds of breathing from the rest of the people in the camp. He wasn't about to call them 'comrades' or 'companions' after all. John's thunderous snore broke the serene silence, but Gisborne couldn't find it in himself to be truly bothered by this. It was just like any other noise he would hear by Locksley or in the castle, whether it be the thudding of boots or the harsh banging of the shutters he'd forgotten to fasten in English wind.

Try as he might, he just could not sleep. He was smothered by the stifling memories despite the English chill, and attempted to ignore his thoughts and concentrate on nothing but his breathing. The sounds he had found comforting earlier seemed a bother; a cricket sounded too close, an owl shrieked ominously as a mouse squeaked in terror. The trees creaked in foreboding darkness and the stars seemed no longer to be winking, but glaring.

He shook his head and moaned softly, forgetting he was not alone.

A dual moan came from across him and pulled Gisborne abruptly out of his mind. The owl was no longer shouting cries of death and battle and the trees seemed content once again. The stars were no longer so angry at him.

His curiosity piqued, Gisborne resisted the urge to sit up, merely lying still and listening. Another groan came from where Robin lay, and the younger man turned over, reaching for something in sleep. In the grips of a dream, then, just as Gisborne was on so many nights. For some reason, the grunts and little noises of discomfort from Robin made Gisborne not feel so alone. In a way, they were sort of comforting.

Gisborne turned away so his back was to the open camp and pulled the blanket up to his nose. He shut his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him.

Marian came to him that night, smiling, laughing, jumping. She rode atop the horse he had gifted her with, grinning like she had won everything. She walked down the isle in her beautiful white dress. She stayed behind at the castle with him instead of seizing her chance to escape; her hands were cold. She looked at him with her large, bright blue eyes, so full of hope and intensity for him, as if she still believed. And in the morning, Robin looked like he had barely slept. Dark rings began forming under his eyes and his face was pale, his eyes much too bright, as if Gisborne had stolen his guardian angel which protected him against such things.

Gisborne tried not to feel like his stomach shouldn't sink so, and like he shouldn't be experiencing such a bubble of guilt in his chest.

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**That is a wrap! My very first Robin Hood fanfiction, I'm actually proud :D The season finale is sort of what made me write this, because I think Gisborne really didn't deserve what he got, especially when he and Robin were finally getting along (sort of.) Hope you enjoyed this and please, leave me a comment on your thoughts!**


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